


Flat

by lightherons



Series: Did You Look at the Moon and Stars, Too, Tonight? [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Episode: s08e05 The (Mis)Education of Liam Fergus Beircheart Gallagher, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightherons/pseuds/lightherons
Summary: He canhearthe flatness of Ian's voice when he recounts the old perv from Fairy Tail and hiswife. The flatness makes Mickey's skin crawl and he clenches the phone in his fist as he takes another draw of his cigarette and eyes the gun at the foot of the bed.





	Flat

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes a serious discussion of rape. Specifically in the stated episode and 3x06. If that triggers you in any way, please turn back.

He can  _hear_ the flatness of Ian's voice when he recounts the old perv from Fairy Tail and his  _wife_. The flatness makes Mickey's skin crawl and he clenches the phone in his fist as he takes another draw of his cigarette and eyes the gun at the foot of the bed. He wants nothing more than to take it and cross the border again and head straight for Chicago and put a bullet between the man's eyes. Him and his wife. He wants to shoot  _something_ , though. Maybe later. He'll kill that  _hijo de puta_ , Alberto, who stole from Mickey's new friend, Heliodoro, a few weeks back. They'd laughed it off at the time, because Alberto had nowhere to run, but they still hadn't handled it. Too much shit going on to take out petty thieves.

Hell, his dad would have had the man dead and buried and rotting by now.

Sometimes, he missed the efficiency of the South Side. He wonders, briefly, about calling Iggy and getting him to take care of shit there. Iggy had liked Ian. Or, Mandy. She loved Ian. Sveta? No, she was still locked up with Immigration, if he recalled correctly. He needed  _someone_ to take care of it because people couldn't get away with that shit.

"It was all for nothin' though," Ian continues. His voice is better now, less raspy. Mickey hears him clear his throat a few times and winces at the pain he can almost hear. Ian's throat sounds like it's raw.

(Which, Mickey would know about. Ian gave  _excellent_ head and always went the extra mile. He heard that raspy voice quite a few times.)

"The owner of the church is selling it to someone else. They want to turn it into an art gallery. They want to give back to the community by showing them  _art pieces_." Ian's voice is bitter and clogged with emotion. Mickey's almost certain that Ian would be on the verge of tears if he were anyone but Ian. "Like they need fucking art."

Mickey's resolved to not speak. He had spoken in the beginning of the call, said pleasantries (after, " _Ian? What's wrong?_ ", when he had first answered the call. He did _not_ panic.) But, then he realized that Ian was shaken up and needed someone to  _listen_. Not someone to threaten or promise falsehoods. He'd always known Ian almost as much as his fucking family did. He knew what that kid needed, even when he didn't know it himself.

"They need a place to  _live_ , not pretty things to look at." The flatness has returned. "So, now they have nowhere to live and it's all my fault. I got their hopes up and couldn't even deliver on it. I did  _that_ to get them the place and it was all for nothing."

Mickey shifts before putting out the cigarette and reaching for the gun. The cold metal is comforting in his hand. He's reminded of a time when a cold gun was more than comforting. "Ian," he says, "you'll find another place, alright? You and Trevor, you're fucking smart and you'll figure it out."

"Oh God," Ian replies, horrified. "Trevor. I cheated on him."

Mickey runs a hand over his face, wishing he was doing anything  _other_ than convincing Ian that what happened was..  _rape_. That he was still in Chicago and had accompanied Ian on his blackmailing trip and had kicked the teeth in on that douchebag that had dangled the idea of housing at-risk youth in front of Ian's face and told him he could only have it if he had sex with him and his  _wife_. Fuck, Mickey would have burned two clips in them both on principle, alone.

"That's not cheating," he finally says. "Rape isn't cheating, Ian."

Ian lets out a sharp sound, as if the concept hadn't occurred to him. "That wasn't rape, Mick." Ian tells him, dismissive. "I didn't say no or anything."

"Did you  _want_ to have sex with both of them?" Mickey presses.

"No, but-" Ian stammers.

"But what?" Mickey continues. He needs Ian to admit to it.

"If I hadn't.. we wouldn't have gotten the money for the church and- I agreed to it, okay? That makes it consensual."

Mickey looks down, and clicks the safety off of his gun. He points it at the wall, looks up, and closes one eye. He imagines someone's face on the other end of the room. He doesn't know who's face it is: Kash, Ned, any nameless fucker from those clubs who had their hands on Ian's body when he was coked out of his fucking mind. Svetlana in a short black dress, his father with a gun pointed at his left, Frank's, fucking Alberto's.

"You know," Mickey clears his throat, "I knew a guy once who had sex with this prostitute."

Ian's quiet on the other line, but Mickey knows he's listening, probably confused at the change in topic.

"He fucked her good, but.. he didn't want to. You see, his dad was standing there,"

He knows that Ian understands what he's saying now.

"His dad had a gun pointed at someone this guy cared about. If he didn't have sex with her, the gun would go off and he couldn't let that happen, so he fucked her good and hated himself for weeks after that. Hell, even years. He had to marry her, too, when she got pregnant. He had to marry the girl who raped him, though she didn't have much of a say in it either."

Ian's barely breathing.

"Why do the kids need housing?" Mickey asks.

Ian clears his throat. "They'll die. They'll overdose on something or get killed by a pimp or.. They'll  _die_."

"So, how is it any different? Instead of a gun, it's society. Still someone you care about, still someone you don't want, it still makes your skin crawl and makes you want to throw up and it makes you hate yourself because..  _how did you let that happen_?"

"He was your dad, Mickey. You were afraid of him, everyone else."

"It's not about fear, Ian, it's about power. That guy and his wife had  _power_ over you. The power to save or take a life." He clicks the safety back on and drops the gun to his side. "It's not your fault that you didn't get the church, and you didn't cheat on Trevor."

"Then, why does it feel like I did?"

"Because you're blaming yourself for what happened. You think that because you didn't say no, that you agreed to it." He knows how that feels. Even though he and Ian had never sat down and talked about what they were (in fact, Mickey actively avoided all that), he had felt  _wrong_ and  _dirty_ about what he'd done, that somehow what he'd done had been a betrayal of what he wanted with Ian.

"I got home and threw up for about an hour. I couldn't get the taste out of my mouth," Ian admits. "I showered for another. I could still feel them touching me."

Mickey nods. "Try some mouthwash, alright? Anything with a strong taste. Then, go hang out with your boyfriend. Talk to him, alright?"

"I-I can't," Ian stutters. "Not yet. I can't"

Mickey nods again. "Okay. Is there  _anyone_ you can talk to?"

Ian's quiet again, before he says: "No."

Mickey bites his lip. He wishes he could send Mandy over, maybe she could get Ian to talk to her. He wishes that Ian could come to him, too, but he knows it's not possible. Ian's probably being watched for any signs of him going to Mickey. They already thought he was a suspect in Mickey's disappearance right after he escaped from jail. Maybe, he could come back over, just for a while. He'd dye his hair or something. Maybe the manhunt had died down. It wasn't like he was a high-profile criminal.

"Okay, well, you have me."

"I wish you were here," Ian blurts out.

Mickey pauses. "Yeah, I wish I was there, too." He smiles. "Give it a few years."  _We'll be together again._ "Until then, go beat something up. Go for a run. Find someplace you can scream at the top of your lungs. Don't bottle it all up or you'll blow up at the person you care about and hurt them. And, talk to Trevor. He'll understand."

"Yeah," Ian replies. "I will. Thank you."

"You call anytime you need me, you hear me? None of that "I don't want to bother him" bullshit."

Ian laughs. "Yeah, sure, Mick."

There's nothing left to say, and yet so many unsaid words that Mickey desperately wants to speak.  _I miss you. I love you. I need you._

So, he opts for nothing.

"Go talk to your boyfriend, or your family. They love you, Ian, and they'll listen."

"Yeah. I'll think about it."

Mickey accepts that. It's better than nothing. "Get some rest, too. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye, Mick."

"Bye."

He hangs up the phone and holds it in his hand.

He  _definitely_ doesn't shed a tear, for love lost, for painful memories, for every shit storm that has ever hit his life.

"Hey, Heliodoro, where did you last see Alberto?"

He grabs the gun.

**Author's Note:**

> I had to watch Matilda after this episode to calm down, I was so pissed off. This is part of a new series that I created called "[did you look at the moon and stars, too, tonight?](http://archiveofourown.org/series/886692)" which is basically just "conversations with my ex". It'll be codas/fix-its to the episodes involving Mickey and Ian, usually through phone calls with recent episodes.


End file.
